lifeaftr | January Intro: It Grips Me

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January Intro: It Grips Me

INTRO LOG: JANUARY

Who: New arrivals, and you!
What: New souls arrive to the archipelago of LifeAftr
When: January 5th and onward
Where: All over Ensō
Warnings: Mark as needed!

Shores of Ensō: The Sun's a Harsh Reminder Why
As dawn arrives - and with it, new adventurers to Ensō's shores. It appears the Storyteller is not about to allow a repeat of last month. The ever watchful pages that have guarded the shorelines the month prior now begin to move closer inland, circling the landscape in closing, careful arcs. To the particularly astute, their purpose may quickly become clear. Anything foreign to Ensō's natural ecosystem will be met initially with wary hovering, ruffled pages flocking to nearby trees and wheeling overhead. Now and again, a particularly brave little page will swoop down to tap against the top of an unsuspecting entity.

Foreign entities, in this instance, just so happen to include...well, all of you. These partially sentient notes can be found flitting across the entirety of Ensō and the neighboring housing islets, intent on surveying every little nook and cranny of the tropical landscape. While they may little more than a vague irritant, their attitude towards a person they’re surveying can absolutely get worse, depending on the response they receive.

Though responses may vary (and creativity, encouraged), the pages are looking for indications of anything that is not only out of the ordinary, but also that which is acting suspicious. Unfortunately, they're not quite experienced in determining what does and does not count as a genuine threat, and thus they might very well interpret even the smallest signs of surprise, anxiety, and (justified) irritation as signs of hostility.

Unfortunately, their response to this is likely to be just as unpleasant as it is abrupt. Those of you who protest a little too vigorously may find yourselves abruptly doused with a viscous black ink - a marker to return and inspect you again in future. Where more aggressive behavior is…noted, you may very well find yourself swept up in a tornado of angry paperwork, only to be abruptly (and not at all comfortably) deposited at the Storyteller's temple. A very weary Storyteller will do their best to apologize as they slowly smooth out the kinks in this new security system.

But surely you agree, dear adventurer, that this sort of security system is indeed necessary.

Ensō, Inland: Who Knows Where Our Limits Lie
Unsuspecting adventurers aren't the only creatures the pages seem intent on harassing, it seems. Across Ensō, the activity of the native fauna will become much more apparent as creatures are driven from their usual haunts by invading paper. From the smallest of snaplings to herds of cariborn, it will take some time for the wildlife to settle down as many disturbed creatures will find themselves displaced miles away from their natural homes, seemingly at random. Unfortunately, this also includes the creatures most would prefer not to have on the move.

For the unappraised, Ensō happens to play host to a particularly horrifying brand of wildlife known only as the fustercluck: a large swath of appropriated limbs with katamari-like qualities, if katamaris were more well known for digesting the majority of their victims and using what little remained (usually the hands and feet) to propel themselves towards their next meal.

Despite Ensō being home to two such creatures, very little has been discovered about them, aside from how unfortunately indestructible they seem to be. Magic, guns, bombs - name your poison, and a fustercluck will most certainly be impervious to it, including poison itself. Should you be unlucky enough to wander into the path of a fustercluck, your best option is to run - or lend the fustercluck a hand.

And another hand. And your entire body, since you offered so nicely.

The fusterclucks have a more directed path than most creatures - they can be found moving up and down the rows of G and H until January 10th, when they appear to settle down...unless they're diverted elsewhere first.

All new arrivals will awake with knapsacks, their names stitched to the front. The contents of said knapsacks can all be found in your acceptance notices!

As a final note to those who participated in the Test Drive Meme, bear in mind that those threads, if all parties involved would like, can be game canon in the form of dream-like memories involving a place very much like this one, though the layout is considerably different.

Feeling a tad adrift? Make sure to check the Locations Page, which has details regarding the starting areas and a handy map for those who feel better with a bird's eye view!

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

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[Round two, here we go. Guzma has chosen to make his second trip to the beach in just his swim trunks this time around, having been back and forth from home to other areas of the island accosted by the damned paper swarm. He's been drenched with ink, and while hi ensemble is usually as monochromatic as his hair, he doesn't like the wet, sticky feeling of ink clinging to him and his clothes.

He can only hope the shit washes out, otherwise he might have to actually strangle the Storyteller, as chill as they are, and despite Guzma liking them. Seeing a flock of the paper monstrosities makes him stop dead in his tracks, and he utters a soft curse before they flutter over toward him like a swarm of angry hornets, buzzing around him and splashing him with ink.]

SON OF A--!! C'mon, I didn't even do anything this time! Buzz off, you crummy excuse for Flygon paper!! [Oh, how he wishes he have a fire type right about now...]

[He rolls onto his stomach and stares. The paper cranes are having a mad on party at some guy. He eases himself up and makes sure his sword is properly sheathed before he speaks up.]

Hey. Yo.

[The paper friends just keep inking on. Dirk coughs into his closed fist and finally has about enough of this. He pitches his deadpan voice to carry, lacing it with enough disapproval to make a teacher sit up. It works on seagulls.] Okay, this is done. Step the fuck off his back and let the man breathe.

[He marches into their midst and starts shoving them out of the way.] What the fuck are you doing that for anyway? He's clearly just here to scope out the beach. Go on. Shoo.

[He flutters his hands sending more of them scattering away. His arm sweeps out to send more of them higher into the air.] Come on.

Go flutter above if you want. Stop this shit!

[The papers definitely get the message, but not without some coaxing. It takes several swats from both the two guys to get them to disperse entirely (for now), but not quick enough to save Guzma from being smeared with ink. He looks like an artist's nightmare, or a squid attack victim, and even Dirk himself wasn't spared from one or two errant splashes of ink. They at least don't have a history with him. Guzma on the other hand...well. His anger does tend to gain him some infamy.

He's rubbing his face, not doing much to remove the black color, but at least gets the dripping mess from his eyes, and shakes his arms off, cursing softly and trying not to get too angry. Ugh, he's going to be running out of soap and shampoo at this rate, and it's not like that shit grows on trees on this fucking island. He wants free shit for this, and the Storyteller better provide.]

Thanks...those dang scraps have it out for me. [You smack a few around, rip another to shreds one time--]

[Dirk stares down at a black spot on his shirt and thumbs it. Huh. He looks up at the papers fluttering about like pale birds and thinks all over again he's so far out of his depth.]

No problem. [It takes him several seconds to process the mess around them as he adds.] I just got here fresh out of the sea. What exactly are those things doing and why?

They landed on me like I was a perch but that's all.

Edited 2019-01-26 06:40 (UTC)

Oh, no kidding? [Guzma has no where to wipe his hands, so just flicks the ink off his palms as he stares out at the horizon, half expecting to see another person or two just spat out from the waters.] Guess it is that time'a month, huh?

Don't know what them things are other'n crazy scraps of paper with a wicked attitude, but I'm guessing they gotta do with Ol' Cottontail - our resident floppy-eared, uh...god, I guess. They're pretty harmless themselves, but whatever they done did with these papers, if it is something what they did, ain't making no one happy. Pretty sure even the local wildlife here's been driven outta where they usually gather.

[In fact, he's seen a lot fewer pterex and slypers on the beach. GUess they're all hiding from the papers...] If I didn't have stuff to do, I'd stay indoors until these blow by.

[All this activity makes him uneasy. He'd been poised to end a cycle of death that had spanned across two universes. It's not the friendly deity in the shape of a jackalope's fault but he feels that frustration as he stares up at the papers.]

They look like they're patrolling. [He curls his hands into fists and looks to his companion as he pushes up his cracked shades. Dirk looks up again.]

Do they have specific targets? Certain wildlife that they're zeroing in on as much as they're harassing the shit out of you. [He visibly seems to come to a decision and walks back to his stuff, he slings the pack over his back and retrieves his board, tucking it under his arm as he rejoins him.]

How much do you need to do today? I might be a calming influence on these things and could make it a little easier.

[Patrolling? Guzma blinks, looking up again and...sure enough, the papers were indeed circle overhead in the sky, like vultures on the lookout for a tasty bit of carrion. He wrinkles his nose, wading into the cool ocean water to wash off the murky, black ink from his body and hair. The worse of it he'll need actual soap and water, but at least the ink that hasn't dried comes off pretty easily.]

Tch, not really...seems they're pestering everyone and everything out there right now. Like they're tryin'a sniff out trouble but are causing more of it than anyone out here on the islands. ...I'd commend 'em for their efforts at making mischief if'n I weren't a hecking target, yo. [Guzma grumbles wringing out a part of his trunks and seeing a pool of black water dribble into the water. Ugh. He only looks up when the newbie offers a hand in his chores.]

Huh? Oh, uh...well, I got way more laundry to do now...gotta get together some wood n' tinder to start a fire for dinner - no to mention actually find something interesting to cook. Fish gets boring after a while if'n y'don't prepare it a different way. ...But I ain't no good at butchering nothing...so a bludroc or any like... steaks are outta the question unless I ask someone to hunt and slaughter something for me.

And no offense, homeboy, but y'all don't look the hunting type.

[The list of things needed scroll through his mind. It's like a blast from the past. He sets his board down and buckles his sword on his back properly. He checks over his pack and rearranges the gear within it. He'll need to store it somewhere. The fishing line he'll use later. He looks up when he's specifically addressed.]

My hunting experience is oceanic specific. I wouldn't be the best help with land hunting. I can at the very least help gather wood.

[He adjusts his pack straps and slips it back onto his back.] I'm Dirk by the way. And yeah, sea life gets damn boring if you don't have a variety of ways to prepare them.

Guzma. [He doesn't shake, but offers a nod of greeting, then sighs heavily.] Bro, you're telling me. I heard there's rice n' other grains on other islands and what, but milling it ain't easy... Man, what I wouldn't give for a real Alolan Poke, yo.

[He whines, clutching a hand over his stomach as it growls at the mere thought. Lightly seared and cubed fish in a delightfully savory sweet glaze over a bed of coconut rice and garnished with green onions and sesame seeds? Delicious... It's a dish he's been wanting to replicate here, but some of the ingredients are sadly absent or harder to come by when you have to farm and mill them.] But I'd 'preciate the help with the wood.

I can show y'all where the islets are - you gonna need a place to bunker down, yeah? Dunno if there's free space left on any'a them, but ain't no other way'n poking in one'a the houses and seeing if it's occupied or not.

[And if it gets late, Guzma's not above letting Dirk crash the night, if Lillie's okay with it, though he'll have to sleep on the floor... At least Guzma has a plush rug he can lay down, and some pillows and spare furskin blankets. It won't be super uncomfortable. He does owe the guy for the help.]

I’ll need a place. If only a good space to put my tech up and let it dry. The rocket board alone will take some time to dry. [He needs to get under the hood and find out what is damaged. Water damage is a sure thing but what else? Dirk nods to accept the thanks then pauses. He recognizes what a poke is but stuff needing farmed. That is a community effort and he will do his part.]

I might be able to later assist in better farming techniques or at least designing things to make it easier. My best skills are combat and engineering.

[He could do a lot with even a few tools and a working plan. He’d have to see what is existing and how to improve on it. Dirk stuffs all that way to say instead.] Thanks for your help too.

[Rocket board? That is absolutely getting a solid look from Guzma, and one thick, dark brow lifts in muted interest, but he says nothing to it. Just nods slowly and scratches his chin. Having someone stay over at his place is going to be...difficult. He can let the guy stay there for maybe a night or two, but the little hut is cramped enough as is, and three people is really pushing its capacity to exist in there comfortably.]

Engineering might come in useful, but I gotta tell y'all right now, there ain't barely any tech in this place. Like, actual tech. Anything what someone's got came with 'em when they arrived, and it's probably running at only five percent of what it could and should be. This place is like the ding-dang stone-age, bro, fair warning if'n you're expecting to live like y'all's still in the modern age.

[It's been hard to adjust, absolutely. Guzma's not used to hunting, butchering, and preparing his food. He's not used to making sure everything is eaten or used so that his efforts getting it aren't wasted. He's not used to going without something so easily accessible to him back home. Still, it's been maybe a year and half now and he's...well. Not adapted, entirely, but adjusted enough.]

Mm? Don't sweat it. [He shrugs off the thanks, keeping an eye out for the scraps of paper in the sky.] It was more'n enough to get those things to back off so I can go about my day.

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January Intro: It Grips Me

Paper Cranes

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omgosh sorry for the wait!!

man no worries life sort of slapped me a lot.

big same

it just keeps slapping me, will be a bit slow

no worries, fam, iam in so rush (and also slow)

no worries

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